


Everything Will Get Better

by RemyJane



Series: You'd Never Even Know (Lula 'Verse) [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyJane/pseuds/RemyJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“He's one of my best friends.” Jori said defensively. “Last time I played with him...he was so sad then. I almost can't believe how happy he is now.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>  <i>“I still thought I was going to Hell. I tried so hard to be perfect son, maybe make up for it.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Volodya…” He kissed him tenderly.</i></p><p>  <i>“Jori...I don't know, without Jori...I don't know if…” Vladi paused, uncertain how to say what he wanted to say. “I don't know if I’d be ok if Jori...he helped a lot.”</i></p><p>---</p><p>Jori is the first person Vladi comes out to. This is that story. See notes in beginning for warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Will Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a happy story, though the ending is. Consider yourself forewarned that Vladi vaguely considers suicide (nothing specific ever mentioned). Vladi is extremely upset/depressed and Jori helps him through it. Also, everything they are saying is in Russian.

The first time Jori met Vladi, it was on the ice. 

On the ice, Vladi was so alive, engaged and leading and full of ideas. Jori felt drawn to him, like a magnetic pull existed between them. They connected immediately; something just clicked. 

Vladi looked at him at practice and smiled, stealing away the puck before tearing down the rink. Jori gave chase. He felt like a kid again, laughing when Vladi faked his way around the defender. Vladi didn't look, just made a neat drop pass that ended up on Jori’s stick blade and he easily put it away. The goaltender sighed, slowly standing to get a drink of water. 

Vladi was grinning broadly when he circled back around, cuffing Jori on the helmet in congratulation. “Jori, right? I’m Vova.” Vladi was loose and confident, clearly in his element. 

“Yeah. Nice pass.” 

“Nice shot.” He shrugged off the compliment. 

Jori almost didn't recognize him when he saw him out of his uniform, off the ice. He looked like a shell, entirely devoid of all the joy and mischief Jori had seen before. “Is he ok?” He asked Jonas Enlund, his other winger. 

Jonas shrugged. “He's just quiet.” He barely even glanced at him.

Jori didn't think he was ‘just quiet’ but he was hard to get to know. As open and happy as he was on the ice, simultaneously playful when he could be and poised when he needed to be, he was an enigma off ice. 

He was only 18; Jori wondered what had happened. Andre, his father and their coach, didn't acknowledge it. He didn't cut Vladi any slack, either, working him harder than anyone, pushing him. Vladi took it all in stride, never complaining and never making excuses. 

Vladi’s eyes lit up when he talked about hockey, the only thing that seemed to be able to bring back something like the spark he had on the ice. He was so smart about the game, Jori thought. He admired it. They started talking more, spending time together after practice with whiteboards and game tape. Vladi always seemed hesitant to leave afterwards, like he wanted to continue the conversations forever. 

He was a good friend, quiet but thoughtful. Jori appreciated someone who was able to help him dust off the Russian he’d learned in schools and put it back to use. Coming to Russia had been daunting and having a friend made it seem less so, more an adventure than a journey into the unknown. 

He was only 18 and as calm and mature as he acted during games, he still had a temper. He got in a fight after someone tripped Jori and sent him hard into the boards. Watching the fight was almost more painful than the hit; Vladi didn't know what he was doing and he was soon pinned to the ice. 

After the game, he went to go find him to say thanks. He checked a couple rooms, about to give up when he heard voices from the weight room. As he got closer, the words grew more distinct and the tone more familiar. 

“No, again. Better.” Andre said. There was a pause. “Again.” 

Jori pushed the door open. Andre had his arms crossed as he watched Vladi go after the punching bag. 

“If you're going to waste your skills fighting then you're going to be good at it. Maybe this will be a lesson for you.” 

Vladi only nodded, punching at it again. Andre blew his whistle. “Again!”

Jori pulled the door shut quietly and walked away, emotion churning in his gut. 

Jori volunteered to be Vladi’s roommate on their first road trip. Vladi gave him a surprised look, but didn't question him. Vladi was quiet and unassuming as a roommate. He didn't object to anything Jori wanted to watch. He frowned at his laptop for a while before closing it and rolling over to sleep. 

“Want me to turn this off?” Jori asked, waving the remote at the TV. He turned the volume down a couple clicks. 

“It's fine. I'm tired. I can sleep through it.” 

Vladi didn’t open up much about what he was thinking. He listened intently to Jori but he kept his own feelings to himself, though Jori could see that something was the matter. It took months to break through Vladi’s shell. It was a slow, slow process. Gradually though, the young man started letting him in more. 

Jori knew he was under a lot of stress from his family, being a third generation hockey player. His grandfather and his father had high expectations for him and they were obviously weighing on him. Jori didn’t think that was it though. Something deeper, bigger, was bothering his friend. 

Jori came back early from the bar, feeling tired and ready for bed. He was quiet as he entered the hotel room, fully expecting Vladi to be sleeping. One bedside lamp dimly lit the small space and his roommate was sitting in the middle of his bed, something in his lap. 

Vladi startled when Jori closed the door, slamming shut a book. 

“You ok?” Jori asked, toeing off his shoes. Vladi wiped his sleeve across his eyes, nodding and not looking up. “Vova?” Jori frowned. He walked closer. Vladi wiped his eyes again, sniffling. His cheeks and nose were red, eyes wet. 

“I’m ok.” He said, voice catching. Jori bit his lip; Vladi looked so impossibly young in the low lighting. 

“What do you have there?” Jori reached for the book in his lap and Vladi yielded easily, letting him take it.

It was a bible, and not the one from the hotel drawer. It was clearly a beloved gift, leather bound and well worn. Jori leafed hrough it briefly, seeing notations and markings all throughout. The inside cover told him it had been given to Vladi by his grandparents when he was a child.

“Why are you crying?” Jori sat down next to him, passing the book back. Vladi hugged it to his chest. 

“I’m going to go to Hell.” He told him, voice quiet and certain, resigned to his fate of eternal damnation at the tender age of 18. 

“Why?”

Vladi shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. I can’t fix it.” He stood, putting the bible away in his bag and locking himself in the bathroom. Moments later, Jori heard the shower start.

Vladi was religious in the way lots of Russians were; it had been pounded into him since childhood, as much a part of life as hockey or home. Finland wasn’t an extremely religious country so Jori wasn’t accustomed to it, but God was second only to mothers in most families and the feelings were much the same; mothers loved you unconditionally and they determined right and wrong. 

Vladi was on edge. The better Jori got to know him, the more divergent he realized the two versions of him were. On ice, he was alive and happy. Off ice, at best he was flat and indifferent, consumed by something that was obviously breaking him down. 

Others had started to notice, though most of the team seemed to attribute it to Andre’s new tendency to keep Vladi late to test out new ideas for drills and techniques. Vladi wasn’t wavering, despite the heavy expectations weighing down on him. 

“He's gonna push him too hard. He's only a kid.” Jonas sighed, watching as Andre yelled at Vladi to start a drill over. They were all exhausted; Vladi had to be too.

Jori agreed, though he wasn't sure that was the root of the problem. 

Vladi spent more and more time pouring over his bible, falling asleep over it at the desks in their hotel rooms. Just when Jori thought he should intervene, thought that he should find a way to help, Vladi broke. 

Jori woke up in the middle of the night to crying. His heart felt icy cold as he bolted upright when he realized it wasn't part of his dream. Vladi was sobbing into a pillow, vulnerable and scared. 

“Vova? Volodya, what's the matter?” Jori sat down next to him. Vladi winced away from the hand on his shoulder. “Are you hurting? Are you hurt somewhere?” He changed his question, because obviously his young friend was hurting. 

Vladi shook his head, crying too hard to answer. Jori turned on the bedside lamp and stroked his hand up and down Vladi’s back. “Volodya, please talk to me.” 

Vladi was sweaty and warm under his hands. Jori was a little bigger still and he used it to his advantage, pulling Vladi up and into his arms. Vladi resisted for a moment, almost out of principle Jori suspected, but then he latched onto him. 

“You're scaring me. What happened? Do you want me to get Andre?” 

Vladi shook his head. “No! No, don't, please.”

“Ok.” Jori soothed, keeping his tone calm. “Ok. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on.”

“I can't.” Vladi sobbed. “You'll hate me.” 

“I won't.” He promised. Jori kept rubbing his back, hands slow and purposeful as his heart was racing. What could be so bad that Vladi thought he would hate him?

“You will! Anyone would! I hate it. I tried...I tried so hard and I can't change it. There's something wrong with me.” Jori held him closer, feeling like if he let go Vladi would splinter into millions of pieces, never to be put back together. 

“Volodya, just tell me. You're so upset. Just tell me.” He begged. Vladi was so emotionally vulnerable and Jori could hardly stand it. 

“I'm going to go to Hell.”

“Why?”

Vladi covered his face. “Because I'm gay. I can't fix it and my family will hate me and…” He trailed off, burying himself in Jori’s embrace. “And I'm so scared.” He whispered. 

“I don't hate you.” He said gently. “And I don't think you're going to go to Hell.”

“I read the bible. I read the whole thing.” Vladi looked up. “It's a sin. What I want, what I am...it's a sin.” Tears were still streaming unchecked down his cheeks. 

Jori rocked him gently, side to side. Vladi was still crying and trembling, broken in his arms. He could barely stomach how wrecked he looked. “There's nothing wrong with you. I promise, there's nothing wrong with you.” 

“You don't know that.” Vladi tried to pull away but Jori held tight. “I don't want to feel like this anymore.” 

“Feel like what?”

Vladi shook his head. “I don't wanna talk about it. Please, please don't tell anyone.” He looked so frightened. “Especially my father, you can’t, please don't tell him.”

Jori nodded. “I won't tell anyone. I'm glad you told me, ok?” 

Vladi had deep purple bags under his eyes the next day and he barely ate breakfast. Jori pushed him back to the buffet line. “We have a game later. Go eat.” He told him. Jonas watched the rookie with a worried gaze. 

“Is he alright?” He asked.

No is what Jori wanted to say. “He’s just stressed. Andre, you know?” He shrugged his shoulders. Jonas nodded.

“He works him too hard.” He said before turning his attention back to his breakfast. 

Days later, Jori was staring at the empty bedroom in his apartment when he had an idea. He called Vladi. 

“Hello?” 

“You should live with me.” Jori told him. “You're with your family, aren't you? I have a spare bedroom. We could split the rent.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Vladi asked, lacking all the confidence and bravado Jori knew he could have. 

“Of course I’m sure. You’re my best friend. Nothing can change that.” He tried to pour all of the meaning he could into the words. 

“Thank you.” 

A week later, Vladi moved in with him, looking bewildered at the practically untouched apartment and barren kitchen. Jori was suddenly self-conscious. “I don't really do a lot of cooking.” He admitted, shifting. 

Vladi looked up and then gave him a rare off-ice smile. “I’ll cook.” 

After a few missteps and learning how to shut off the smoke detector, Vladi proved to be an excellent cook. He applied all of his focus to it and Jori reaped the benefits. 

Cooking became something else he could throw himself into other than hockey, something that put a smile on his face. His Grandmother gave him a small book of recipe cards and Vladi started going through them diligently. Cooking was therapeutic and their friendship grew even closer, covered in flour and kneading dough side by side. 

Jori was watching a movie in the living room when Vladi walked out of his room, wrapped in a blanket and sleepy looking. “Is it too loud?” Jori asked, reaching for the remote. Vladi shook his head. He plopped down on the couch and watched with him for a few minutes before speaking. 

“My best friend got married last summer. His name is Sergei.” Jori looked over, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Vladi continued, trying to keep his voice level and unaffected. “We’ve been friends since before we started school.”

“Oh?”

“I was the best man at his wedding.” Jori wondered if he imagined the small quiver in his voice. “I...I wish I could stop thinking about him.” 

Jori covered his mouth. “Ohhh, Volodya.” Poor Vladi and the heavy weight of his unrequited love. 

Vladi squeezed his eyes shut. “He doesn't...Obviously, he doesn't- I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He made to get up but Jori pulled him back down by his elbow. 

“C’mere. It's ok. Everyone has that one person they love and can't be with.” He spoke from painful experience. 

“He’s my best friend and I can barely talk to him anymore.” Vladi choked out. “It hurts. It actually hurts. I didn't think...I didn't know it could feel like this.” 

Jori reeled him in by his blanket and hugged him. He wasn't so far removed from being a teenager that he had forgotten the intensity of emotions. His high school girlfriend had devastated him; he understood at least some of what Vladi was going through. 

“I know it seems bad. But you're gonna get through all this.” He promised.

Vladi looked up tearfully. “I hate feeling this way. I can't do this anymore.” 

“I know. You're gonna be alright, though.”

Jori thought he did a good job camouflaging his homesickness, denying it to himself and to others. He didn’t, obviously. 

He came home from running errands and the house smelled like his mother’s cooking. His eyes immediately watered a bit and he stopped short in the doorway. It took a moment to collect himself, cheeks flushing with a little embarrassment. He was an adult, he shouldn’t miss home that much. 

“Jori?” He heard Vladi from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

Jori swallowed. “Yeah.” He rounded the corner. Vladi was stirring a large pot of soup. His mother’s cookbook was resting open on the counter. 

“Found this and thought...maybe it would be good for you.” He studied his face, looking too intelligent for his age. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Just, uh, that just smells really good.” 

Vladi beamed at him. “Good. I hope it tastes right.” 

It tasted like home, not quite like his mother made it, but unique in a way that Jori appreciated. It tasted like home in their apartment, a blend of Finnish and Russian tastes. Jori felt a little like a kid again, knocking his knee into Vladi’s as they ate side by side. 

“It’s perfect.” He told him. “Thank you.”

Vladi got a concussion the next week. It was the first glimpse Jori got of Andre being anything more than a coach to his boy, nearly leaping off the bench when Vladi went down. Jori and Jonas had to help him off the ice and down to the tunnel. 

Andre skipped his scheduled post-game interview, hovering over Vladi in the medical room and badgering the doctor with questions. Jori caught a glimpse of him stroking his hair, holding his hand. When Vladi protested about something the doctor said, Andre pressed a kiss to his forehead and hushed him.

“He says he’d rather just go home than come back with me.” Andre told Jori. “Let me know if you need anything.” He seemed sad about Vladi not wanting to go to his family’s house to recuperate. Jori wondered if Andre even realized how hard he pushed his son.

Jori drove him home after the game, taking it slower than usual. Vladi’s phone kept ringing in the cup holder. “Do you want me to answer that?” Jori asked.

“It’s Sergei.” Vladi whispered. 

“He wants to make sure you’re ok.” Jori looked at him at a red light. “How’re you feeling?”

“Dizzy. Sick.” He was pale.

“Do you want me to pull over?” Jori asked. Vladi gave a short, tight shake with his head.

“I just want to go to bed.” 

Vladi had 12 missed calls by the time they got home. Jori finally answered the phone while he waited for Vladi to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed.

“Volodya?” Sergei asked, anxious. “Are you ok? I was watching the game.”

“Uh, this is Jori, actually. Vova’s ok. He’s getting ready for bed.” He started putting away his gear and hanging up their coats. 

“He’s ok?” Sergei sounded skeptical. 

“Well, he’s got a concussion.” Jori backtracked. “But the doctor said he would be ok. He’s got a pretty bad headache right now.”

“Ok...I just...I haven’t heard from him in a while and he...he got hit so hard.” Jori heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on. “I wanted to make sure everything was ok.” 

“Yeah. He’ll be fine, he just needs some time to heal.” Not just from the head injury, Jori thought. 

“Alright. Good. Thanks. Uh, let him now I called. I guess he’s pretty busy. I miss him.”

“I’ll let him know.” Jori said, hanging up. Poor Vladi and poor oblivious Sergei. He rubbed at his eyes before going to check on the concussed rookie.

“Sergei?” Vladi asked, looking up from the edge of his bed. 

“Yeah. He just wanted to know how you were doing.” Vladi shrugged his shoulders and curled up in the bed. Jori sat down on the edge next to him. “Do you need anything?”

“No. I could stay with my family, I don’t want to bother you.”

“You don’t bother me. Don’t be ridiculous.” Jori brushed his hair off his forehead. “Get some rest, Volodya.” 

As Jori expected, the concussion did nothing to help Vladi’s existential crisis or crisis of faith or whatever crisis it was exactly he was having. Jori missed his winger and he missed Vladi on the ice, missed seeing him smiling and laughing. 

“How do you know I’m not going to Hell?” Vladi asked softly after dinner one night. He was laying on the floor with his arm over his eyes, hiding his face. 

“Because if God loves you and made you, he wouldn’t do that to you.” Jori shrugged. He had grown up going to church for Christmas and Easter, but only his maternal grandparents had been particularly devout. It wasn’t something he thought about much at all, making Vladi’s troubles all the more foreign to him. 

“Maybe it’s my fault.” Vladi mumbled. “Maybe I did something wrong.” 

Jori bit his lip. “Maybe you should talk to someone about this.”

“Like who?” Vladi looked up. 

“I dunno. A priest? They’d know.” 

“I can’t. I can’t risk...no. No one else can know.” He sat up too fast, wincing and taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I can’t ever tell anyone. I can’t.”

“You told me.” Jori pointed out. “And I’m ok with it.”

“You’re not Russian, either.” Vladi pointed out darkly. Jori tipped his head in acknowledgement; Russia had some terribly unequal rights as far as homosexuals went and those who were out were not treated well. He didn’t want that for his friend, either. 

“Well, maybe you can go to the NHL. Canada’s pretty accepting, America too, I think.” America was something of a dream, especially in Russia. The Cold War had never really ended, not completely and Jori wondered how much was actually true about America; he’d never been. 

“My father wants me to stay in the KHL.” 

“He’s not in charge of you though. You could make it in the NHL.”

It planted a seed that started a fight. 

Vladi sought out more and more information about hockey in the NHL. He’d been drafted by a team in St. Louis, but Jori honestly wasn’t sure what would come of that. Lots of Russian players stayed in the KHL instead of going to the NHL. The pay was better in the KHL and they were closer to home. And the style of play in the NHL was so different, the ice so small. Jori wasn’t sure what it would be like if he ever went. 

Vladi recovered slowly from his concussion but he was still so downtrodden. His father pushed him in his training and while his coaching style was good for training a team of men, for your young son coming back from a concussion, it was lacking in sensitivity. It was almost as though Andre couldn’t see any of the good Vladi had done, only what he wasn’t able to do yet. Vladi tried so hard, too hard, and it was never quite enough for the coach in Andre. 

One day towards the end of the season, Jori found him standing in the doorway to his bedroom, looking moments away from tears. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Vladi looked up. “I-I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” 

“Do what?”

“Hiding. Hockey. Anything.” His eyes welled up. “I don’t know what to do.” He whispered. He pressed his lips together, chin dimpling as he tried to hold back tears. 

“Volodya…” Jori hugged him tight, heart pounding. This angst was going on too long, it was ripping Vladi to shreds but what could he do about it? Vladi was so young, too young for all the pressure being put on him in his first full season. He’d graduated school early just to play, he’d always been pushed, he was always pushing. What would happen to him when he snapped?

“I hate this. I miss...I don’t know. I just miss something. Something’s wrong with me. I’m so scared someone will find out and...I don’t know what my father would say. Or my mother or grandparents...They would disown me, I think.” Tears started to fall. Vladi was shaking. 

“No one’s going to disown you. They love you. Let’s sit down, ok?” Jori suggested. 

Vladi covered his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I keep bothering you and-”

“You’re not bothering me. Don’t even think that.” 

Vladi looked up at him with lost blue eyes, so panicked and wrought with emotion. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep lying to them.” He broke apart, crumbling like dust into Jori’s arms. “I can’t do this, I can’t.” He sobbed, heartbroken. Jori felt his eyes getting wet too. It wasn’t fair, the hand that Vladi had been dealt. It wasn’t fair that he was made to feel so badly about who he was by his family and society. It hadn’t been his choice, it was just who he was. And he was tormenting himself over it, melting away.

Vladi was inconsolable, a wet, snotty mess holding tight to Jori like he was the last thing on earth keeping him rooted. Like without Jori he was fly apart. 

Vladi was only 18 and he was such a good kid. Why couldn't Andre see that? He tried so hard, he didn't party like many people their age. His work ethic was better than many veteran players. 

“I don't want to do this anymore, Jori.” He mumbled into his chest. “I just can't. I...I need a way out.” 

“What are you saying?” Jori felt a cold pit of dread in his stomach, something that was threatening to consume him. 

Vladi hiccuped, fists tightening in Jori’s shirt. They had always been physically close. Jori’s family was a loving group of hugging, kissing people. Vladi’s was more reserved but he so obviously craved affection like a man in the desert craved water. 

“Something has to change.” He whispered. Jori looked down at him, tilting his chin up. 

“What do you mean you need a way out?” Jori asked again. 

Vladi met his eyes briefly before breaking down again, too tired to cry much more. “I can't live like this.” His voice was in ruins. “I don't want to hide for the rest of my life.”

Jori didn't know what to tell him. 

“If I'm going to go to Hell anyway...maybe I should just give up now. Jori, I just can't do this anymore.” Jori felt frozen, he couldn’t be talking about...

Jori felt sick to his stomach. “It's going to get better. You're not going to Hell. I promise you, it's going to get better.” He realized vaguely that it wasn't just Vladi who was shaking. 

Vladi looked up at him. “What do I do?” 

“You said something has to change. So change something. Go to the NHL, go anywhere.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” Vladi admitted. Jori hated to see him like this. He was just a kid. Any one thing he was going though, his father pushing him, his family’s expectations, the pressure from fans and the media, coming to terms with his sexuality, any one part of it would be too much for most people to deal with. All of it coming to a head at the end of the season, on top of the lingering affects of the concussion, it was overwhelming.

“You can. I know you can. Please, just go to the NHL. You’ll be able to make it. You’ll be able to be yourself.”

“You think...you think I could come out?” Vladi swallowed, wiping his face. “I can’t hide like this, I just can’t. You have no idea…”

“I’m sure you could come out to your teammates at least. Maybe even everyone, if you felt comfortable.” Jori said slowly. He didn’t want to get Vladi’s hopes up too much, but he had to get them up some, if only to get him through the season.

There was no more talk, however vague, of permanent endings to his temporary problems. 

Vladi was able to play for the last few weeks of the season, but they didn’t make it past the first round of playoffs. Vladi had signed the contract with St. Louis for 3 years and it had given him a new lease on life. He’d started to smile again, brightening.

“I’m going to miss you.” Vladi told him. They were piled on the couch, watching TV mindlessly as it rained outside. 

“I’ll miss you too.” 

“Do you think...Do you think we’ll ever play together again?” Vladi looked up at him. 

“Even if we don’t, keep in touch, ok? You’re my best friend.” Jori told him. “You have to take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Vladi looked away, almost embarrassed. “I think I’m going to tell my family, once I’m in St. Louis.”

“Oh?”

“Right now, I think they’ll hate me but...I’d rather them actually know and hate me than this...just having it hanging over me...It’s not good.”

“That makes sense. Then, at least you’re being honest, being yourself.” Jori nodded. “Just be careful, ok? Remember, you’ve always got me.”

“Thank you.” 

Jori was almost asleep when Vladi poked at him. He looked up and Vladi looked sleepy and bleary-eyed too. “I hope I get to play with you again.” The young Russian said quietly, voice warm around the edges. 

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled. 

They fell asleep watching TV, listening to the rain, and dreaming about some magical future where they skated together again. Jori was sure it was just some fantasy, some wishes just never came true. 

But this one would.


End file.
